Socially Awkward
by Hopeful Puppy
Summary: There was a shot fired. The clear ringing of a gun... But it wasn't his. Sherlock grins as he realises he was saved by the one man who can create a brand of chaos even Mycroft is hard pressed to control. And all without even being present. It's always nice to know your personal guardian angel is still hanging around and annoying your elder brother...
1. Saviour

Sherlock determinedly raised the handgun to the Nordic man's head. Aiming for the middle of the forehead, Sherlock looked into Magnussen's dead, shark-like eyes and saw emotion. A feeling of triumph momentarily washed through him at the sight of unbridled surprise and fear in those eyes, but it was fleeting as he focused on his next action. He made to pull the trigger. A shot rang out. It took Sherlock a moment to realise as he lay on the ground with John's solid, protective hand on his back, that the shot fired wasn't his. He dimly remembered ducking as soon as he registered an unknown bullet emerging from the head he was aiming at, John only two seconds ahead of him in reaction time. As he lay on the ground beside John, surrounded by special ops and staring at the cooling body in front of him, there was a moment of pause before the whole area descended into a chaos that even Mycroft was hard pressed to control. He couldn't help the smirk that spread over his face at the scene before him. There was only one man he knew that had perfected the art of chaos to the point where he didn't even have to be present to create it. Not even Moriarty was that good, though Sherlock would grudgingly admit his nemesis had come close. Even as they were being led away in handcuffs, the look Mycroft sent Sherlock had his smirk widening into a grin.

Miles away, sitting in a fairly sturdy tree, Harry Potter slipped back on his glasses. He'd had his eyes magically healed as soon as he was legally able, but had kept his glasses to avoid unwanted attention and unnecessary headaches. Learning his eyesight would deteriorate to the point of blindness had been a very good incentive to get the procedure done, but the extra enhancements that he had paid only fifteen galleons more for had increased his less than exuberant attitude towards it. Harry took a moment to gaze in the direction of the erupting chaos. He saw the helicopter circling above the building and dark spots of movement on the ground below it. Relaxing against the trunk of the tree he was sitting on, Harry couldn't but think that his actions were worth it, even if it meant killing a man.

Truthfully, Harry would've offered to assassinate Magnussen himself, as he found the man more morally inept than even Rita Skeeter. Even then, not only did Skeeter have slightly more morals, she was infinitely more tolerable to be around. Harry had only spent five minutes within the man's presence and in that time had used every trick in every book known to man, to hold himself back from breaking the shark's nose. He was still thanking every deity he knew of for not being recognised at the time. Regrettable as it was, killing Magnussen the way he did had saved the Holmes brothers a bit of trouble and served the purpose of sending a message to both Sherlock and Mycroft that he was still around. He was sure he wouldn't be connected to this incident. Even if he was, he was confident in his ability to disappear. He wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be. The Wizarding World was a good example of that, as they had yet to find him. _That could be because I made my last "death" seem very permanent, though, _he thought drily.

Harry had known he wouldn't live happily in the Wizarding World and he had issues with people and social norms in it that he would have to work through before he would even consider returning to that world again. As it was, he didn't really have the motivation to work through such issues, so he generally kept his distance unless absolutely necessary. Glancing down at the gun resting in his lap, Harry remembered promising himself the day he "died" that he would never again fight for anyone else but himself. Never again would he let strangers push him to the front lines and cower behind him. Gazing at the sleek black and hard lines of the weapon, he told himself this was different. He might not fight for the world, but he would kill for his family. Because his family was all he had left.

Disassembling the stolen and magically modified sniper rifle, though the scope was unnescessary, Harry checked for any noticeable evidence that it was him who been in the area. Then, after gathering up any leaves that had fallen during his time in the tree to make the investigation extra difficult, he disapparited without a sound.

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**This is just a little piece I was inspired to write after Sherlock finished once again.** **It's very short in comparison to some of my other work but when I attempted to make it longer it just... didn't seem to flow as well or something. Anyway, I have a couple of other ideas I'd like to add to this but for now I'll leave it there. Hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. Babysitter

John was grumbling again, Sherlock noted as they walked side by side down a crowded London street, heading for home. Sherlock knew, of course, why John was grumbling. From what he could deduce, it was a mixture of Moriarty's return and Sherlock's own cheerful demeanour. Sherlock didn't see what was wrong with being cheerful, but when he asked John in his usual blunt way, what was wrong with being cheerful, he was pleasantly amused by the answer. John explained that there was nothing wrong with Sherlock being cheerful but the demented grin he had been sporting since Magnussen had been killed was starting to worry a lot of people, including Mary. This explanation only made Sherlock grin wider, which in turn made John grumble more, which continued to amuse Sherlock to no end.

The pair walked passed a quaint café that had an equal amount of people sitting outside to the amount of people sitting inside, though it seemed all the patrons were enjoy some kind of hot beverage or another. As they sauntered passed, Sherlock collecting information with a glance and discarding it just as quickly, while John eyed an abandoned cup of tea longingly, the two men suddenly got the feeling that came with being watched. This wasn't an unusual feeling for either John or Sherlock, what with Mycroft being their acquaintance and brother respectively. But while John turned to find the nearest street camera, Sherlock felt a warm tingle run up his spine. Time seemed to slow and the world blurred as Sherlock came to a stop in the middle of the path. He could vaguely hear John's worried call, hazy and sluggish as it was, but he ignored it to focus on the feeling that was slowly filling his veins. It was a sense of excitement that he hadn't felt in years. The kind that left his hands trembling for something to do and had his eyes searching for the next surprise. Sherlock turned slowly back towards the café, still ignoring John's call, and examined the patrons sitting outside more carefully.

It took him a moment to pick out Harry's pale features and shaggy raven hair in the small crowd, but it didn't surprise Sherlock very much when he saw the glowing emerald eyes that were sparkling with mischief. Harry had perfected the art of blending in when he was very young after all. Noticing that John had stopped trying to get his attention and was now following his gaze to the lithe man's reclined position in the corner of the café's patio, Sherlock took a firm hold of John's sleeve and dragged him towards the little table Harry was sitting at. He stopped in front of the table and let go of John's sleeve to resist the childish urge to cling to it in reassurance. Sherlock wanted to introduce the two people whose company he favoured most in this world. However, he was at a loss at how to do that without admitting to both John and Harry, quite awkwardly if his emotional track record held true, that they were his two favourite people in the entire world. As a result, John and Sherlock stood awkwardly for a moment or two in front of a very amused Harry, who seemed to know what Sherlock was thinking but also seemed quite happy to let him flounder. Sherlock scowled petulantly and Harry chuckled before gesturing to the other men to sit down. The two obediently pulled out the chairs, if a little hesitantly on John's part, and as Sherlock flopped into his, Harry got the conversation going.

"Hello Locksie," he said with a fond smile, "you're looking much better than when I last saw you. Then again, when I last saw you, you were being led away in hand cuffs, so it can't really get much worse than that."

"You'd be surprised" John muttered mutinously. Harry grinned in response as he turned to look at him.

"You must be Dr John Watson. Sherlock's new glorified babysitter."

John looked like he didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed, while Sherlock just looked insulted. Harry laughed at their expressions and, choosing to rile Sherlock up just a little bit more, he continued addressing John.

"I don't envy you, mate. You have your work cut out for you. I should know, I was his last babysitter" Harry grinned impishly. "My name's Harry Potter, if you were wondering."

"I was," John replied, finally giving into his grin of amusement at Sherlock's deepening scowl.

"You weren't my babysitter then, Harry, and I don't need John to be one now," he huffed.

Harry smiled in a pacifying manner, and stated in a soothing tone, "of course not, Locksie."

Sherlock scoffed and looked away. John took his chance to speak.

"He's never mentioned you" he stated bluntly, tilting his toward Sherlock briefly. Harry smiled sadly in response and nodded.

"I'd be surprised if he did. I'm not really supposed to be talked about. Rather an unmentionable being in the Holmes family, I am" he laughed quietly, a little morose. Sherlock kept silent.

"Though to be fair, I'll bet he didn't mention Mycroft either, did he?" Harry continued with a sly smile.

"No, no he didn't" John chuckled slightly at the truth.

"After all, why would he mention the evil enemy that is his brother? You'd find out about him eventually."

John laughed openly at this with Harry while Sherlock glared darkly at both of them. He didn't see what was funny about his thought process and didn't really like the two laughing at his expense. He was secretly pleased however, that the two seemed to be getting on so well. Though he wasn't sure he'd want them to be so well acquainted if they kept joking at his expense.

"Don't pout, Sherlock. It doesn't become one of your IQ levels" Harry admonished sweetly. John smiled faintly at the patience in Harry's tone that Mycroft's seemed to lack every time he spoke to his brother.

"I'm not pouting" Sherlock snapped and then did a complete one eighty on the topic of discussion. "Nice work with that cover up for Magnussen by the way, I hear his murderer had a lot of motive."

"I don't know what you're talking about" Harry dodged lightly, looking at his nails. Sherlock grinned triumphantly at the action.

"Wait," John paused, putting the pieces together, his guard rising as he did so. "You're the one that shot Magnussen?"

Harry smiled blandly, "Come now, John. You know as well as I do, that would be telling."

His answer did nothing to sooth John's growing suspicions. Sherlock, however, scoffed loudly at John's reaction.

"Come now, John. It's not like you haven't done the same thing."

John blinked, not only at the truth of Sherlock's words, thinking back to their first case together made John acknowledge that fact that he really couldn't judge Harry, but also at the similar speech pattern between Harry and Sherlock. Glancing between the two briefly, he wondered who picked what up from who.

Harry's eyes took an interested gleam upon hearing this titbit of information and he also glanced between his two companions, waiting for one of them to elaborate. Sherlock smirked deviously at Harry's interest.

"You can find the details of the case on John's blog under the title 'A Study In Pink', if you're curious" Sherlock explained smoothly. Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow with a disbelieving tilt to his lips.

"A Study in…Pink?"

Sherlock turned to send a smug look at a, once again, grumbling John. The disbelieving tilt to Harry's lips turned amused when he realised this was a popular topic of debate for the two friends. Before the discussion was rehashed again, as Harry was sure it would be by the challenging glint in Sherlock's eyes and the hard frown on John's face that was rising to meet that challenge, Harry spoke softly.

"I'll have to see this blog for myself, I think."

This time both John and Sherlock blinked, surprised at the abrupt statement, and they both turned to look at a serenely smiling Harry. While John took this statement at face value, Sherlock's expression fell into a calculating expression.

"If you're going to be looking at John's stories, I should show you my blog on the science of deduction. I'd rather do that back at the flat."

"What?" John asked, confusion spread across his face, clearly not following Sherlock's train of thought. Harry, on the hand, had practise and experience on his side, so he quickly caught onto not only Sherlock's train of thought but also the real reason behind it.

"Honestly John" Sherlock huffed, exasperated, "Do you really think I want Mycroft knowing I was explaining my blog to Harry? You are free, aren't you Harry? Good. It's decided. Let's go."

Sherlock hopped up and marched off, leaving John and Harry to stand and push in the vacated chairs at a more sedated pace. John's face was still a mask of frustrated confusion, so Harry decided to have a little mercy.

"I'm sure Mycroft teases him about his blog. By the sounds of it, he must be quite proud of it."

John's confusion didn't clear. If anything, he got more frustrated at the explanation.

"Yes, but why bring us back to the flat? Not that, you aren't welcome. You are. But if he wanted you to see the flat, why not just come out and ask?"

"This is Sherlock we're talking about," Harry stated dryly, a dull look on his face. John's ears and cheeks turned a slight pink hue. Harry sighed.

"Besides the fact that it's Sherlock, I'm not really supposed to be seen with Sherlock or even in public. I hope that will change soon, but for the moment, that's the way it is."

John, still a little confused, nodded at the explanation anyway. There was an awkward moment of pause. John shuffled his feet, oddly nervous in Harry's presence before turning to catch sight of Sherlock's disgruntled expression at their slow movement.

"John?"

John turned again, at the sound of his name, giving Harry his full attention as the pair started walking after Sherlock.

"Thank you for looking after him when I couldn't."

"You're welcome" was John's automatic response. But hearing the sincerity in Harry's words gave John momentary pause. Turning to look at the man walking beside him and couldn't help but verify the obvious.

"You really care for him, don't you?"

Harry smiled softly as he told John how he'd met a young boy who was far too intelligent to make friends with his peers because they just didn't understand. And when they caught up to Sherlock, he scoffed at Harry's story and told John how he'd taken pity on a skinny, bespectacled boy who was far too stubborn and kind for his own good. John laughed and told Harry about how he'd met an arrogant but brilliant man who whether he'd fought in Afghanistan or Iraq and whether or not he wanted to see a flat in the space of five minutes. When they reached 221B Baker Street, Mrs Hudson made them tea and they continued to swap stories well into the night. The blogs were forgotten and left for another time.

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**I wanted to get this up last Saturday, but I just didn't get the time to finish it. I don't think I'll have the next chapter up by next weekend but that's when I'll try and aim for. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Happy Reading!**


	3. Avenger

**To Sarah and Guests for not only reviewing and supporting this fic, but also for asking quite the interesting question. Unfortunately, you are going to have to decide the answer for yourself.**

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Mycroft Holmes had been having a fairly normal day in the offices of the British Government up until sometime after lunch. Having just come back to his private office in the Diogenes Club, he left his trusted assistant to her duties; usually this meant she'd sit at small table outside said office and have tea, while tapping away on her phone.

Today, however, when he sat down in his leather chair behind his ornate mahogany desk he felt a shiver run up his spine. Like Sherlock, a sense of excitement that he hadn't felt in years was slowly filling his veins. Alas, because Mycroft was the lazy fellow that he was, this feeling was tinted with a sense of apprehension and resignation. Mycroft closed his eyes to mentally prepare himself for an inevitable conversation. No sooner had he done so, than a silky amused voice spread throughout the elegant office.

"Hello, Mikey. You're looking well. Lost weight, have you?"

Mycroft's eyes did not fly open in surprise, much to his relief, but his posture became stiffer and when his eyes did open, still too quickly for his liking, they retained a slightly wider shape than normal upon seeing one Harry Potter lounging in one of the hunter green leather chairs in front of his desk. The man looked as if he had been there for a while, which he probably had been if Mycroft was honest. Unfortunately, that meant that Mycroft had walked straight passed him, looked straight at him even, when he entered his office and hadn't seen him. Harry's amused smile became a little bit sharper, as if he knew what kind of frightening thoughts were running through Mycroft's head. With the fleeting thought that he shouldn't and wouldn't be surprised by that, Mycroft looked imploringly at his unexpected guest.

"Harry, Mycroft is the name mummy gave me. If you could refrain from shortening it and possibly struggle all the way to the end."

Harry smiled sweetly; "And where would the fun in that be, Mikey dear?"

Mycroft gave a long suffering sigh as Harry chuckled quietly at Mycroft's annoyance.

"Don't worry Mycroft, for the purposes of the following conversation; you will not be called by my beloved nickname for you." Mycroft's eyes sharpened but he smiled benignly despite it.

"Have you been to see mummy?" he asked lightly. Harry's smile was a little more forced.

"I have, actually."

"And?"

"She seems to be doing well," he answered vaguely and Mycroft almost smiled triumphantly at having caught Harry lying about such a visit until he continued.

"In fact, it was from her that I heard Sherlock was shot." Mycroft resisted an uncultured sneer.

"Is this the part where you tell me off for bad behaviour? Put me over your knee and pretend I'm a disobedient child?" he asked sardonically.

"I don't know, Mycroft. Is it?" Harry asked with a pacifying tone and a sarcastic smile. Mycroft huffed.

"You should be aware that Sherlock volunteered to fake his death and spend the next two years chasing around after Moriarty's men," he defended.

"Only because you asked him," Harry stated face turning slated, "but that's not really why I'm here. He had good reasons for going underground as he did and I've already told him off for letting good, loyal and trustworthy people like John and Lestrade think he was dead. No, I'm here because your ambition and sense of duty combined and at odds with Sherlock's reckless nature make for a rather bad headache on my part. Case in point, it pushed Sherlock towards drugs again in the aid of a case, that you had information on. An action you could have prevented." There was only a momentary pause.

"Good God, you really are here to scold me" Mycroft glared incredulous and insulted. The hard set of Harry's facial expression did not soften.

"I'll bet a large sum of money that John wasn't in the room when you 'said' all of this to Sherlock" Mycroft stated dryly with an unimpressed air. Harry raised an equally unimpressed eyebrow.

"Of course not, but then why do you think your dear PA is sitting outside at this very moment? I can assure you she won't be hearing a thing. This is because I'm neither cruel enough, nor stupid enough to rip into either you or Sherlock, or anyone else I care about for that matter, while anyone else is around" Harry explained with decided bite, his patience finally wearing thin.

"Harry-"

"Don't you dare 'Harry' me, Mycroft Holmes!"

"He would've shot Magnussen. You know that. He could've ruined everything!" Mycroft snapped, frustrated that Harry couldn't see what he did.

"And I would've been damn proud, if he did. But laws don't apply the same way to him as they do to me, so I took the shot instead. I took the shot because I knew, Mycroft, that you would've sat there and done nothing as he ruined his life for the thrice damned "greater good". I knew you would put 'the people' over your own family." Harry growled.

"Harry, the needs of many-"

"He is your brother!"

There was a pause as Harry glared at Mycroft. As Mycroft carefully removed all emotion from his face, Harry's glare intensified.

"I trusted you to look after him," Mycroft scoffed very much like his brother, "I trusted you both, to look after each other and so far it is your 'idiot' of a younger brother that is the only one to keep that trust."

"Harry, please-"Mycroft began, but Harry waved his hand in a single, firm dismissive gesture.

"You told me when you were young why you wanted to be in government. I'll admit, you had many reasons, but one stood out from the rest. Remind me again, what that reason was" Harry asked calmly. Silence greeted Harry's request and at this point, Harry's expression was just as blank as Mycroft's. The only give away to how seriously Harry would take Mycroft's answer, was how hard he was staring into Mycroft's eyes. The silence continued until finally Harry closed his eyes in a defeated sigh. He stood up gracefully and walked towards the door and had just gripped the handle when Mycroft decided to speak.

"I worked my way into the higher ranks British government for my Queen and country with the minor goal of avoiding or manipulating those of a lesser intelligence than mine."

In a matter of moments, as these words left Mycroft's mouth, his office became a whirlwind of destruction. Glass shattered, wood cracked, papers were blown around the room and the door knob melted into Harry's hand. The two men stood in the mist of the chaos, untouched but not unaffected. Harry turned back to what Sherlock dubbed as the "British Government", his eyes glowing an eerie raging green and his raven hair was blown about in the magical wind. His jaw was clenched tight as he looked at Mycroft, who by now had a look of slight apprehension and uncertainty on his face, though he seemed to have by passed the carnage that had become his office in favour of watching the angry wizard.

"Fine," Harry hissed, his anger drawing on the parselmagic that had stayed with him through Voldemort's demise, "lie to yourself all you like. But don't you dare lie to me!"

"Harry, be reasonable"

"Why did you do it?"

"Harry-"

"Why?"

"Ha-"

"WHY?"

"TO PROTECT MY FAMILY!" Mycroft finally shouted, giving in to Harry's demands and showing more emotion than he had in years. The magic stopped and the room stilled. The two men stood in the ruin, muted.

"It's good to know you haven't forgotten that, at least" Harry glared scornfully.

"Harry, please, let me explain" Mycroft implored, not quite pleading.

"No. You had your chance, Mycroft. You knew why I came here today and what I was looking for. I was angry before I came but willing to listen to what you had to say. You chose instead to avoid the topic and play a deplorable political game, for which I had no patience. Now I'm beyond the realms of anger and am in no mood to show you mercy" Harry's voice was steely but it sounded more human than it had previously. He waved a hand and, with his emotions still fuelling his magic, the room righted itself. Mycroft's office looked as if the heated discussion had never taken place. The same could not be said for either Harry or Mycroft, both of whom were high strung with emotion. Harry turned on his heel and marched towards the door. This time when his hand gripped the newly repaired door knob, he did not turn to look at Mycroft, choosing instead to speak to the wooden door in an attempt to keep his temper in check.

"Mycroft, you looked out for Sherlock and his loved ones the best way you knew how and I commend you for it. However, you sacrificed your own brother's happiness and life for government plans and other people and I'm not sure I'll be able to forgive you for that."

Harry stood glaring darkly at the door for another minute, then turned the handle and let himself out without another word. Only when he had shut the door with a sharp and resounding chick, did Mycroft allow himself to slump against his desk and close his eyes in shame.

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**Finally finished this! It took a while to type out the start and I ended up beginning in the middle and typing the introduction last again. And now I'm right back to where I started with nothing written to guarantee an update for next week. I'll see what I can do, though. Hope you enjoyed it!**


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